


risk assessment

by goldcarnations



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Email Correspondence, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Interviews, Mixed Media, Office Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldcarnations/pseuds/goldcarnations
Summary: Ben doesn't technically have a problem with heels, or stillettos, or whatever the fuck anyone is wearing on their feet these days, but the clicking is getting close and closer and now there's the newspaper headline in his brain again that reads in bold, unforgiving,decisiveserif:BREAKING NEWS: Devi Vishwakumar to the be the next CEO of Gross Industries -
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	risk assessment

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!!!! LOTS OF NOTES UP FRONT. LOTS AND LOTS OF NOTES 
> 
> 1\. this fic is dedicated to [nonsissi](https://nonsissi.tumblr.com)! she reached out on tumblr and sent me [this delightful article](https://www.vulture.com/2020/07/is-anyone-watching-quibi.html) about the tumultuous relationship between the founder and the CEO of quibi, which sparked the idea for this fic. i truly hope i do your idea justice here and thank you so much for messaging me :)
> 
> 2\. this was not supposed to be a 5 chapter fic! gasp! this was supposed to be a fun little one shot but that's besides the point. the issue here is that i am about to go to university in a week and so i can't promise that the posting will be consistent or as fast as my previous multichaptered fic
> 
> 3\. i did little to no research except for one yahoo! answer about corporate structure as a Concept so i have a VAGUE understanding of the relationship between the CEO and president and for the rest i just like. exercised what logic i have in my one brain cell
> 
> 4\. the timeline in this fic is totally flawed too for example... it obviously takes people years to develop apps and streaming services and other platforms but here it will only take a few months <3 because i said so <3
> 
> 5\. i hate capitalism. but i will tolerate it in a fictional world if aged up ben and devi get to become a corporate power couple
> 
> 6\. shoutout to the squad for getting me through this. i don't think i would have had the willpower to write this fic without their constant, relentless love and support <3
> 
> 7\. please leave comments and kudos!! they make my day

**DEVI VISHWAKUMAR, VISIONARY IN ACTION  
** _May 2035_ — _VANITY FAIR COVER STORY  
_ _By Rebecca Hall-Yoshida_

Devi Vishwakumar and I are having lunch in one of the swankiest new eateries in New York City. The restaurant is bright, modern, and casual, the perfect backdrop for a woman who appears to fit all of those descriptors. 

“I always told my previous partners that I wasn’t ready for children, and here I am now, basically adopting the biggest child there is,” she jokes, and she isn’t wrong. Vishwakumar, 31, has recently been appointed the new Chief Executive Officer of Gross Industries, becoming one of the youngest female CEOs in history. But this accomplishment won’t be just a new title for her. Vishwakumar’s new position comes with the grim task of turning the company around, a feat deemed herculean by anyone remotely familiar with the brand.

“It’s a bit of a fixer upper,” she tells me with a wry smile when I bring it up. That’s putting it lightly—Gross Industries has taken a nosedive over the last few years. What used to be a formidable media juggernaut has shrunken to a pathetic producer of straight-to-DVD movies and content of the like. 

When I tell her this, Vishwakumar laughs. “I have a _lot_ of big plans for Gross Industries,” she responds cryptically, and the look in her eyes reminds me of what’s made her so successful in the first place: she’s quick, passionate, and there seem to be a million things running through her mind in a minute. It’s that, and her sharp wit, that has contributed to her impressive track record of revitalizing corporations in decline—

* * *

From: bengross@grossindustries.com  
To: fabiolatorres@grossindustries.com  
Subject line: What the fuck

Hello—

Hope you’re well. 

Today I would love to know a few things. Here’s a list: 1) why no one told me about Devi Vishwakumar, 2) what the fuck the board of directors was thinking, 3) why the fuck they thought that this was a good idea, and 4) do you all know that you’re wrong.

And to clarify the above, 5) WHAT THE FUCK

Also 6) ????? I thought we were friends???????? How is there any world where I didn't at least get a heads up??

WHO THE HELL IS DEVI VISHWAKUMAR???

Best,

Ben Gross  
President of Gross Industries

* * *

There's a clicking of heels in the morning of the next day.

And it's loud. Pointed. Sharp, like little knives sinking into his brain, or something equally vicious and small-scale. Two steps to a second. It clicks with the clock in his room in sharp stings, as if the steps are being timed to precision. 

Ben doesn't technically have a problem with heels, or stillettos, or whatever the fuck anyone is wearing on their feet these days, but the clicking is getting close and closer and now there's the newspaper headline in his brain again that reads in bold, unforgiving, _decisive_ serif:

_BREAKING NEWS: Devi Vishwakumar to the be the next CEO of Gross Industries—_

The clock ticks.

The heels click closer. 

He squints his eyes closed with a grimace—he’s getting a migraine, and, well—is that normal? Do high heels cause migraines? Is he having a panic attack right now? No. That can’t be it.

“Mr. Gross, sir?” asks his secretary at the doorway. “Your nine o’clock is here. With Ms. Vishwakumar?”

“Sure,” he calls back, already weary. “Send her in.”

_VISHWAKUMAR POISED TO TAKE OVER GROSS INDUSTRIES—_

_Changing Leadership in Trying Times: Vishwakumar appointed new CEO—_

The heels click impossibly close.

Then they stop.

Ben blinks.

There’s someone standing in his doorway.

Someone female, someone draping a willowy hand on the doorframe, someone who is very obviously _cosmopolitan_ and _worldly_ and _sharp_ and whatever the fuck else adjectives they put in that godforsaken Vanity Fair piece, someone who they also should’ve described as _tall_ and _simpering_ and kind of unfairly _attractive_ , what the fuck, but that really isn’t the fucking _point_ , is it?

“Ben Gross?” coos Devi Vishwakumar, waiting, hovering, tilting her head at him. 

The clock ticks again.

The migraine intensifies.

Ben—

Ben forces a smile.

“Come on in,” he says.

* * *

From: fabiolatorres@grossindustries.com  
To: bengross@grossindustries.com  
Subject line: RE: What the fuck

Hi Ben,

Good morning to you too! I am aware you must have questions for me and the rest of the board about the new appointment of Devi Vishwakumar to CEO. I would be happy to answer them over coffee. Maybe when you’ve calmed down and sat with Devi we can talk about how we settled on this decision.

Speaking as your friend, I think you should sit down and talk with her to really get to know her. She’s an incredible visionary who understands the media landscape today and is one of my close friends. Additionally, speaking as a stakeholder in a business that still _could_ eventually be sued and combed over for digital records, I would also warn you against using such...blatant language to criticize Devi. Especially with your work email. You literally have my number.

Hope all is well over there! Please have some tea. It’s supposed to be good at calming people down. Have already sent a memo to your assistant about this—I hope you like chamomile?

Best regards,

Fabiola Torres  
Board Chairman of Gross Industries

* * *

There’s a part of this whole thing that reminds Ben of a fever dream. 

A hallucination. 

A _nightmare_ , honestly, because there was no part of this that was ever supposed to happen to him. 

And the thing—the _person_ —fucking up his life should definitely not be as attractive or unruffled as the person currently taking a dainty sip from the styrofoam cup of coffee set in front of her in the beginning of the meeting. 

“I’m so glad we’re finally getting the chance to meet,” Devi is saying, cordial, calm, as if she hasn’t a single idea of how deeply miserable Ben feels.

Ben levels back as welcoming a smile he can muster, but his patience is already wearing thin. It’s probably got something to do with his migraine. Or something.

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

She sets down her cup, her eyes dark and liquid, flashing with something that looks like amusement. So maybe she does have an idea. A semblance of one, at least. “Well, it’s my first day today, and I just wanted to discuss our partnership moving forward,” she says. “I feel like Gross Industries has so much potential for great things, and I’m so excited to, you know, get involved—”

“Sure.”

“Help curate those new possibilities—”

“Of course,” Ben says, and it slips out before he can even help himself, “big plans, right?”

Devi blinks. 

It’s a fluttering of lashes that is, again, unfairly alluring, but luckily his resentment overrides any actual effect this could have on him. 

“Huh?” 

“The plans you were talking about in that profile on Vanity Fair. The plans you mentioned you would bring to fix this, uh, _fixer upper_.”

Her eyes widen. “You read that article?”

“Yes, I did,” he answers. The anger flares up again in his throat like bile, hot, acidic, and he can feel his voice rise with it. “About the—what, the _grim task_ of turning Gross Industries around?”

Her face flickers with shock, and there's a twist of satisfaction in his gut. Finally he's caught her off guard. Now she knows how it feels, at least on a small scale.

“Well,” she manages, “is the choice of adjective inaccurate?”

“Why, what do you think it should be? The _exhausting task_ ? The _impossible task_? Those sound right to you?”

“Well, I wasn’t the writer of the article,” she snipes back. “I’m just the person here to save your own damn company.”

Now they’re eye to eye, glaring at each other, both stiff with their shoulders raised. The illusion of professionalism becomes less and less convincing the longer Devi holds his stare.

It’s alarming, really, how quickly their patience for each other’s company has worn out. 

“How generous of you,” Ben mutters through grit teeth. “I suppose not all heroes wear capes. You still want us to call you CEO? Or is ‘savior of Gross Industries’ better for you?”

“Well, that title certainly isn’t going to you anytime soon.”

He chokes. “That’s not—“

“Hang on,” Devi interrupts suddenly, and then she’s leaning forward and studying his face intently as if something has just occurred to her. “You’re the son of the founder, right?”

Ben furrows his eyebrows. 

“I—yes?”

She leans back, her mouth shaped in an _oh_. There’s a snappish, gleeful edge to her voice when she notes, “So all of this makes a lot more sense.”

“So all of what?”

“Your reaction to this whole thing.” She’s still watching him, but glint in her eyes has gone mean and vicious. “Whatever is happening here, I mean.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Your attitude. I should’ve known. Some rando coming in to change daddy’s company?” She tilts her head. “It’s my fault for not realizing that you’d be a bit...sensitive about it.”

And then she has the nerve to smile in that honeyed smirk, mouth closed, that stretches the glossy sheen of light horribly, _distractingly_ tight on her lower lip.

It’s—

It’s sort of the last straw. 

There’s just been a fuck-ton of straws already.

"Actually," he says, "I'm not just the 'son of the founder'. I'm—I'm in charge, actually. I’m the president of the company."

"Well, sure." 

"Yeah."

Devi blinks at him owlishly, then, with a sugar-glazed simper, croons, "Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. In Charge, you seem like you've got everything under control."

Ben glowers at her. “Yeah. Yes, in fact, I do.”

“And that’s totally why they made the leadership change. Because all of this—“ she gestures vaguely with neon-tipped fingers, “is working so well.”

"Excuse me, I’m—"

"The son of the founder, yeah," she says flippantly, airly, like he's somehow wasting her time now. "I mean, there’s no use in beating around the bush, so like: you guys were just doing a terrible job, dude. And it’s sad because all of this could _actually_ go somewhere. That's why I'm here. But I _am_ going to have to take a lot of creative responsibility, as per my job title, because, well, the current trajectory in terms of the content..." she blows out a breath.

“What about it?”

“It isn’t great, is the thing.”

Ben sputters. "Huh?"

"Oh! Yeah, no, whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s just not going to work. When you guys greenlit that one sitcom last year for a season two..." she trails off, her eyes wide. Mocking. _Infuriating_. "That was—well—that was a sign. For me."

“A sign?" Ben spits.

She wrinkles her nose. "Well, I read the reviews—"

Ben’s stomach sinks.

“The reviews didn’t accurately reflect the show—” he begins.

“It was called _slow moving_ and _palatable at best_ —“

"It just needed more time for the audience to get acquainted—"

"—2 stars from the TV guide was already a bit of a red flag, if I’m being honest—"

"And the production of the show was really the only thing holding it back, it was—"

"Oh, the production?" Devi interrupts, her voice laughing and _shrill_ and absolutely despicable. "Now, whose job was that? Still not yours, but apparently that wasn’t stopping you."

"Okay, Vishwakumar," Ben starts, clenching his jaw, "you're getting way out of line here. I hope you understand that your role as CEO in this case will be a formality. I don't need anyone's help."

The glare in Devi's eyes turns icy.

"Well, Mr. Gross," she chirps. "If that's the partnership you're envisioning, I'm sorry to say that you've got a very wrong idea of what's happening here.”

“I think _you_ need to reconsider what this partnership is going to look like,” Ben bites, drawing himself up, pressing his palms against his desk. Devi’s gaze follows him upward, her eyes festering, but with what emotion he can’t tell. “I’ve been with the company since the beginning. I know the kind of values and core content that Gross Industries will be producing—”

“Oh please,” Devi interjects with an eye roll.

“And I will continue to have significant creative control. So you’d better listen to what I have to say, because that’s something that clearly seems to be lacking in this relationship.”

“No, _you_ listen,” Devi bursts out, and the ferocity at which she does it is enough to shock him into silence. She shoots out of her chair and he unconsciously scrabbles at the edges of his mahogany table top to steady himself. “Let’s make one thing absolutely clear: like it or not, I will be having the final say in all creative decisions from here on out. As CEO of this company, it is literally in my job description to make executive decisions on the output of what Gross Industries is producing, especially regarding the content and direction of the type of media that is being produced. If you have an issue with that, I am honestly not sure how to help you.”

A pause.

Beyond her obvious outrage, there’s a searching look in her eyes. Something reckless. Something _daring_. Like she’s trying to see how far she can go, like she’s testing the limits of his tolerance and filing away that information for the future.

A feeling—arousal? Rage? _Both?_ —churns and settles deep in his gut.

Ben blinks hard.

Clears his throat.

Remembers himself.

“We can sort out the details later,” he replies coldly.

The searching look melts into disdain. Devi scoffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, sure,” she says, her voice unforgiving and scathing. “We can set up another appointment.”

Stunned, he watches Devi toss one final look over her shoulder. That waterfall of thick, dark hair swings once, twice, taunting him. Laughing at him. 

“Thanks for having me, Mr. Gross,” she chirps. “The coffee was great.”

She disappears through his doorway.

Ben makes a mental note to buy aspirin. He has a feeling that this migraine isn’t temporary.

* * *

Fabiola’s assistant offers him Biscoff.

“Seriously?” Ben demands after her assistant leaves, his forced smile finally melting off his face. His jaw aches. God, pretending to be fine takes a real toll on facial muscles that he never knew he had. “ _Biscoff_. You only have Biscoff.”

Fabiola regards him with a weary, exasperated affect that flickers briefly to endeared irritation. How sweet. She has an annoyed look reserved just for him. 

“Well, what do you have in your office?”

“I have—breath mints. Coffee.”

“And I have Biscoff,” Fabiola says, the look in her eyes warning and exhausted.

“I just really dislike Biscoff.”

“How unfortunate for you.”

“So _this_ is how you treat a guest.”

“No,” she says. “This is how I treat my colleagues who demand a meeting with me to bitch and moan about necessary leadership changes.” She skewers him with another irritated look, this time without the endearment. “The Biscoff is charity.”

Ben pouts.

“And it’s _good_.”

“Well—“

“We’re not having this conversation,” Fabiola says. “I was told to push two meetings for a tantrum about the new CEO, not about—a perfectly respectable _choice_ in the name of _hospitality._ Snack-wise. For visitors. And,” she pauses here, her mouth pursed, her voice finally swooping in that way when she can’t possibly stop herself from restraining her overwhelming disdain, “for grown men with bruised egos that couldn’t just whine over email.”

Ben glares hard at the red packaging. 

This isn’t a tantrum.

He’s not _whining_.

And it’s all justified, anyway.

“I just came out of a meeting with Devi Vishwakumar,” he says.

Fabiola raises her eyebrows, clearly surprised by the turn of the conversation. 

“Was it constructive?”

“Something like that.”

“Have you guys come to an agreement? About cooperation? Collaboration? Et cetera?”

Ben suppresses his grimace. “We’ve got creative differences.”

“Well, obviously. She’s the new CEO.”

“So?”

Fabiola sighs. “We hired her to turn the company in a new direction. We wouldn’t have hired her if things were just fine the way they were.”

“I’m perfectly capable of making any changes, creative or not.”

“So that’s a no on the cooperation _or_ collaboration.”

“Hey, _excuse me_ ,” Ben retorts, affronted. “I was—it was perfectly civil on _my_ part, alright, and we had a very...enlightening conversation. It was revealing in terms of who she is. How she _thinks_ this is going to turn out for her. And, well, we didn’t kill each other.”

“A veritable success,” Fabiola quips.

Ben scowls.

“It exceeded expectations, didn’t it?” Then, after mulling over the lack of reaction to that statement, he reluctantly amends, “Well, it exceeded mine.”

“Look, Ben,” Fabiola sighs. “I know how close of a relationship you and the former CEO had, and I know it—the leadership change—might have been a bit of a shock—“

“A bit of a shock,” Ben repeats. Guffaws. “Yeah. It _might have been_.”

“—but Devi is one of the brightest minds in the media industry. I know her, okay? And she’s maybe the smartest person I’ve ever met. She’s just got this eye for things—she’s a really strategic, innovative creative.” Fabiola tilts her head slightly at Ben, analytical, like she’s trying to gauge Ben’s facial expression in the form of quantifiable percentages. Like she’s calculating the probability of a meltdown in the next five minutes and creating a fucking _pie chart_ in her brain. 

Judging by the way her mouth slants to the side now, almost sympathetic, the chart doesn’t look great for Ben. 

“And,” she adds gently, “Gross Industries really could use the help. Our stock prices can only go so low.”

“It’s not _that_ bad—“

“It’s bad.”

“It was salvageable.”

“ _Now_ it’s salvageable.”

Ben rolls his eyes, and he knows he’s being petulant, but at this point he’s got a right to be, right? He _deserves_ to be. He’s _earned it_. He worked this hard to go to Harvard, to follow in his dad’s footsteps, and had been poised to work as an executive for this company since his dad produced his first television show.

It’s supposed to be _Ben’s_ company now.

He's supposed to call the shots.

The Biscoff wrapper crinkles in his fist.

“So this has been a productive chat,” he lies.

The worry line between Fabiola’s eyebrows appears, brief, before disappearing as if she’s already resigned to the whole thing. The situation. Their conversation. Ben’s attitude. His righteous outrage, more like. 

“Okay,” she says, but the drawn out syllables do little to hide how not okay she’s apparently finding this. “I just want us to be on the same page about this.”

“We are.”

“Are we?”

Ben stands up from his chair. “I apologize for making you push those meetings.”

“It’s okay. I know that we needed to talk things over.”

“Especially regarding _these_.” Ben dangles the Biscoff again at her. “These are terrible. I don’t understand how you think everyone likes them. Get rid of these.”

Fabiola peers back at him, and then finally the disapproval melts and her mouth does that familiar twist when she’s trying not to smile. “I’m sensing a metaphor, Ben.”

“From what?”

“From your taste in cookies.”

“From my— _what_?”

Fabiola shakes her head hard. “Never mind.”

The assistant escorts Ben out, but not without offering another package of Biscoff, which he declines.

* * *

From: devivishwakumar@grossindustries.com  
To: bengross@grossindustries.com  
Subject line: RE: Welcome.

Hello Ben,

Frankly I find it fucking hilarious that we’re using email to correspond when we could just text each other (you have my number on the business card, right?) or you could just come up to my office, _but_ in the name of professionalism I will communicate to you through this medium. RELUCTANTLY. Email is a stupid, archaic system and I decree it to be dumb and a waste of time... so please text me in the future.

I had a lovely time sitting down and talking to you today. I truly admire the work you have done for Gross Industries, & I only hope that our partnership will go as smoothly as I’m envisioning. I’m having a meeting with our new creative director tomorrow. I hope you’ll join us.

Respectfully,

Devi Vishwakumar  
CEO of Gross Industries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr/shithole/etc](https://shakespeareans.co.vu/)


End file.
